


First Night

by NeumeIndil



Series: Nights in Rohan [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, First Time, Het, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-01
Updated: 2005-11-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeumeIndil/pseuds/NeumeIndil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of the series Nights in Rohan, immediately follows "By Way of Introduction" in time and place. </p><p>Having been approached by a pretty young professional woman in his favorite tavern, what is Gamling son of Gareth to do but see what delights might come from the south?</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Night

Gamling thought he felt her tremble slightly when she touched him. Regardless of the reality, the thought gave him hope, and a bit of courage. Certainly she was no blushing flower of maidenhood, but the idea that she felt a bit nervous or excited relieved some of the pressure.

Pressure, Gamling snorted, with a whore? What are you coming to in your old age, man?

Bedding this wench would likely be no different than any other, though mayhap worse than some. Perhaps that was the thought that had him on edge, he decided, she was new; his mother always said better the evil you knew than the evil you did not. Silently, he smirked; could such things ever be evil? After all he was single, had yet to find anyone he would miss if she did not greet him on his return from a mission abroad: even a lackluster pairing was better than a cold bed or no bed at all. Of course, he’d learned that the hard way, and many times over. Besides, he thought, it was a long day, and draining to watch Wormtongue defy Théoden King beneath his very nose and sugar coat his treason with candied words and cordial. All misgivings aside, here he was, at her door, or at least a door, with coin jumping nervously in his purse, waiting for a change of scenery.

“My lord?” she said, soft, low, her eyes on his face, yet not meeting eyes. A good trick.

“Ladies first,” he said bracing an arm on the door behind her head. Behind her head; not above it, behind it. Gamling smiled. She is tall, all legs, or mostly legs at least. Plenty to drape over my shoulders while she-

Stop it, Gamling, he snorted internally, no sense getting ahead of yourself.

~*~

Will we be proceeding in the hallway? Morwen wondered after a few moments of staring, but settled for a simple “My lord?” instead. The soldier’s hesitation certainly did nothing to ease her own apprehensions. Perhaps she had chosen the wrong man and he was inept; she’d thought him experienced enough for an easy first customer, but she had been mistaken about experience levels in the past. Morwen knew men as a whole quite well, but occasionally individuals surprised a girl, at least in her line of work… and one never really knew with the quiet ones. Fervently, she hoped he wouldn’t want to lick her feet and repressed a slight shudder as her… companion, came out of his daze.

“Ladies first,” he suggested, holding the door away from her backside. With a nod and a deep breath, she entered the room; thankfully cleaner and slightly larger than the last place she’d worked. The soldier’s boot steps thudded dully on the wooden floor planks, and looking down Morwen could see through the slats to the tables and benches below, full of laughing men and hustling women. Some kind of ceremony had gone on at the Golden Hall, the castle, the… in Meduseld, that day and the tavern was full of Rohirrim, drinking and laughing and talking, all as loudly as possible. As she lit the lamp, the door closed and the latch clicked almost silently into place.

“Gamling,” he added quietly, "I’m just a soldier; ‘my lord’ is too much.”

“Very well then, Gamling. I am Morwen.” The name came hard to her tongue and she sighed when his crow’s feet appeared. Some of the Horse Lords seemed to like her accent, she knew it too well, but truth be told, she found their language fascinating and wished to speak it better. Intellectual pursuits, though, were not usually what the people she knew expected in bedroom conversation. She wasn’t the “Top or bottom, milord? Let’s have at it,” type either, so she tried for a little more small talk until he seemed more… inspired.

“What do you do, Gamling? Besides ride horses?” Gamling smiled, and looked less grim for the effort.

“I am one of the Guard,” he replied, hands behind his back, feet shoulder’s width apart- quite a span in his case, Morwen noted.

“Ah,” she replied taking a few hesitant steps toward the bed, “a good soldier then, surely, for the worst and untested go to the walls.”

Gamling cleared his throat, hoping the entire event would not revolve around meaningless chatter, and watched her bend to turn down the bed. Nice hips, full but not overly so. After another moment he sighed and removed his vambrances; she hadn’t even taken her hair down yet.

“What would you have me do, my- er, Gamling?” she asked sitting lightly on the edge of the bed. A wry smile crossed his face before he spoke.

“What is usually done. I have no taste for the… outlandish.”

“Ah. Very good,” Morwen said, scrambling. “Then shall I begin?”

“If you prefer. I am willing to, that is…”

Aha! Morwen thought, here is my opening.

“Then tell me, Gamling, what would you do? If you were to start us off?”

For a while, he did nothing more than stare, studying her face, her hair, her cleavage, her hands, lost in thought. Morwen felt his eyes on her as surely as she would feel his hands in a few moments. Finding her courage again, she fell to studying him. Tall, but it seemed they were all taller than her here, particularly in the capital, which was a pleasant change from Gondor. Broad shouldered, but most were built that way as well. This Gamling’s hair was red, however, and the difference had been her conversation starter. Flattery usually did well in such situations. Morwen decided she rather liked the color, and the length, down to his shoulders, though it could do with a bit of combing. Bet he doesn’t let his horse wander around so snarled and bedraggled, she thought, looking next at his eyes. Blue, not brown; also a bit unique compared to the men she’d seen so far.

“What would I do?” he repeated, thinking seriously for a while. “I would first take down your hair.”

Gamling had a picture in his mind of that mass of black gleaming in ripples down her back. He could only guess at length and hope for thickness- more softness to bury his sore and calloused hands in. A few flyaway strands dangled against her neck, sprung free of the heavy twist she wore on the back of her head. It can’t be too thin, he thought, and he could almost see her hands buried in the mass of curls, tiny little hands, and soft, of course, and fair, matching the air of delicacy drifting about her. A whore, delicate? He hoped not.

“Of course, Gamling,” she said reaching for pins, the low cut bodice of her dress shifting and stretching as she moved. They always went for the hair eventually, even back in Gondor where her coloring was as common as a mirror. Redheads were generally rare among men regardless of nationality and she supposed as she worked her hair loose that Gamling too got attention for his looks. In the mean time, he started on his own clothing while he watched her deal with her pins, piling them on the nightstand. His vest came off and landed with a leathery plop on the floor. The belt came next, his sword and what looked like a well-used dirk still in their sheaths. These he laid on the bedside stand, within arm’s distance. Yes, she thought, untwisting strands of hair, a good soldier. By the Gods, why am I shaking again?

“Your shoes next,” he said removing shin guards and boots.

“I will, my lord- er, Gamling. Once I am finished with my hair.”

“You are of Gondor?” he asked after another long moment of ambient noise from below.

“My mother was, yes.” Morwen hoped he knew better than to ask a whore who her father was. Apparently he did.

“Our queen was called Morwen,” he told her, “the mother of Théoden King; she too had hair like night. It is rare here.” When his boots came off he let out a small sigh of relief, though she was fairly sure he did not realize it.

That felt good. Gods I’m tired.

“There now,” she said as her slippers pattered to the floor. “What would you have me do next, Gamling?” Gamling, now in just breeches and tunic, crossed the room.

“Nothing, lady. I would have you do nothing.”

Standing before her he was slightly more imposing than he’d seemed, though the idea that he was inept was fading fast. I was right after all, she realized, as one large, square hand reached for her cheek, settling lightly as a butterfly. Just as gently, he turned her head, then put the other hand on her shoulder and turned her whole body, letting the lamplight fall on her hair. Understanding came and she shook her head, the ripples bobbing about the waist of her dress. Gamling lifted the mass of hair from her neck with both hands, spreading it reverently across her back, then combing through it with his fingers, massaging gently at her scalp. Morwen sighed when his fingers snaked down her neck toward her shoulders, pressing stiffness out of the muscles there.

Hmm, that feels good. Gods I’m tired.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he continued the unexpected attention to her skin and gently rubbed her neck. Béma’s balls, she’s tighter than a bowstring! How does this poor girl move? Eventually his hands flattened, tracing the lines of her shoulders and slipping finally, slowly, to her collarbones and around her throat.

What in all of Arda is he doing now? she wondered, her breath catching in her throat. Gradually, though, the toughened pad of his right hand slid down to her chest while a solitary finger of the other wandered down into the hollow of her throat, drawing curlicues and circles.

“Someone has been cruel before?” he asked almost whispering.

“Yes my- Gamling.” Slowly, always slowly, he ran his hand across her chest, pressing her gently backwards against his torso.

“I will not be. Cruelty is best left for battle, and only in greatest need.” Gamling let go of her then and walked around her to the bed, catching just a flicker of fear in her deep green eyes as he sat before her and took her hands. “I will not harm you. You have my word. Do I have yours?”

Morwen frowned. “My lord?”

“You are trusting me. I should be able to trust you. Do I have your word that neither of us will come to harm by the other?”

This Horse Lord, she thought, is turning out to be a most unusual man. “Aye, Gamling. Neither of us will be hurt.”

“Good,” he concluded brightening. “Will you, please, remove your clothes?”

“I would rather remove yours,” she answered, trying to regain control of the situation by reaching for his collar. A massive hand stopped her.

“Ladies first.”

“I’ve never claimed to be a lady,” she insisted, detangling her hand from his.

“But there is no reason you should not be treated like one.”

Slowly, almost reverently, he reached for the ties of her dress, loosening them expertly but never rushing, teasing her skin free of the folds of material. Soon she was down to her chemise, then her stockings and knee length shift, embroidered in violets and leaves. Gamling raised an eyebrow at the line of decoration across her décolletage and up the straps of the garment.

“I embroider as a pass-time,” she explained running a hand up his arm. “It helps me calm down before I sleep.”

Fearing they would be tangled up in talk all night, Morwen made quick work of his shirt, skinning it off of his torso and dropping it gently at the foot of the bed in a faded green heap. He was broad, tightly muscled, marked here and there with scars and freckles, and a light smattering of hair peppered his chest, thickening toward his waistband. Not displeasing at all, Morwen thought. Air came less readily as he watched the flickers of amusement and uncertainty dance in eyes the color of a distant meadow. One does not kiss a woman of her profession; Gamling knew this, but felt his pulse beating stronger in his lower lip and, knowing no better option, stood again and sought out the thin, soft skin of her neck, brushing silken black strands aside with the back of his hand. Heated breath trailed down her neck and shoulder and a sound half way between a whimper and a sigh met his ears. At least, he thought, she reacts normally.

Oh thank the Gods, he knows not to try to kiss me on the mouth, Morwen thought. Now, the neck, that was an entirely different story, as was the large hand cupping her shoulder, and the other working its way to her hip and drawing her closer to his body. This she didn’t mind; this she had once been familiar with, a while ago, before the last place. This was how, her mother said, the lucky ones had it more often than not. A tiny nip stung her collar bone and she whimpered, then tossed her head and closed what little gap remained between them, flattening her hands against his biceps in a move, half-aggressive, half-supplicating.

Fingernails in his arm made him smile, and he breathed in the subtle scent of some flower before palming the back of her head to whisper in her ear.

“Now, the stockings.”

Bringing her to the bed with him, he encouraged her to lean back against the pillow placing the second behind her as well, urging her to recline comfortably. Lifting one long leg at a time, he brought her feet to his lap and began kneading gently at her arches through her finely knit stockings, stroking carefully around the joints and bones of her foot. His thumb circled the pads of her toes, pulling slightly on each one before moving to the next, then gave the same treatment to the toes of her other foot. Once her eyes closed fully, he watched her face, her body, her response to his attentions. If cruelty has been her recent bedfellow, Gamling thought, I should banish it with kindness. It is, after all, better to give than receive.

He is rubbing my feet. The big, burly, red-haired Horse Lord is meekly rubbing my feet. I should have moved to Rohan fifteen years ago, Morwen thought. And if they are all like this one, I’d marry one faster than a leaf down the Anduin.

When he finished with the last toe, wiggling it gently but firmly in its socket, she sighed and stretched, pointing her recently spoiled feet toward the end of the bed and opening her sleepy green eyes. He was watching her… and smiling.

“Now then, what about you, Gamling?” She sat up. “You as yet have not-”

“-removed your stockings. You are right,” he replied, his gaze steady. “Please, allow me to do so now.”

Their eye contact never broke as he reached nimbly up her inner thigh, pleased to feel her shiver when his hands touched her tender skin. Easing a finger inside the top of her stocking, far softer than the leather and rough wool he wore every day, Gamling slipped it slowly down her leg, luxuriating in the feel of her skin as it flowed past his fingers like warm cream. At the bend of her knee, he paused to stroke the back of the joint and jumped slightly when she giggled and flinched away.

He grins like a little boy, she thought, the prickles in her leg just beginning to fade. What shocked her most was the heat in his gaze, the open desire, or rather her reaction to it. Morwen had ceased to feel much response when a man touched her; after all, she was not new to the business and had started rather young compared to most. Who needed to pay attention to a woman who was paid to give pleasure whether she received it or not? Attractive for thirty-one years of age or not, she was still just a whore.

“Are all the men of Rohan as… attentive as you, my lor- Gamling?”

When he drew a small, feather light circle around her anklebone with a thumbnail, goosebumps erupted across Morwen’s skin, her nipples tightening to tiny peaks, and he smiled.

He shrugged, “I don’t sleep with them.”

Morwen laughed. “Of course, my lord,” she said, “I forgot me.”

“You do not know?” he asked.

“No, this is my first night here.”

Gamling’s smile, this time, had a wicked glint, and Morwen found her mouth suddenly dry.-

“Then we shall see that it is an excellent one,” he rumbled, starting on the other stocking with just as much sensual grace, following his hands this time with tender biting kisses.

“Why are you giggling now?” he asked moments later in what was apparently mock exaggeration.

“Your beard tickles,” she replied, trying hard not to twitch. His eyebrow arched. Morwen swallowed. I should not have said that.

The stocking popped off her foot in a trice and just as quickly Gamling knelt on the bed, crawling toward her reclined form like a predator, a wildcat stalking prey. Morwen looked up, half curious, when he straddled her thighs. With one last grin, he leaned forward, burying nose, mouth and beard in her breasts, rubbing her soft skin with the curls of his beard, breathing in the scent of whatever flower essence she wore, kissing, laving and nibbling lightly at her chest.

Morwen gasped, she giggled, she squirmed, she had no idea what to make of such behavior, but gripped the back of his head, pulling hair more harshly than she intended, and kept him there, feeling soothing warmth grow from her stomach slowly outward, down her trapped legs and up her torso. His chuckle vibrated through her chest as well until, returned to her senses somewhat, she brought Gamling’s face up and slid her body down until she lay beneath him, panting slightly. Distracting him quickly with warm, breathy kisses down his neck, she reached for his breeches. Time to get on with it then, she decided, as his manhood throbbed insistently against her belly.

It seemed his companion was feeling the push of time, Gamling realized, then sighed when he felt the bare skin of her hip against his questing hand. Part of his work had been completed in her move down the bed. The rest would be accomplished shortly when he rose to his knees, allowing her access to the closure of his breeches, while he rolled the rest of her shift up and off of her body. She rucked his breeches down part way, teasing his quivering shaft with gentle touches. One strong hand caught both of hers as, eyes closed tightly against the enticing relief of her actions, Gamling finished stripping, leaving them both naked and aroused with Morwen pinned gently but firmly to the bed by the hands and the bulk of the Horse Lord’s muscled thighs. Boldness, she decided, could be saved for another time. For now, it seemed, Gamling simply enjoyed becoming familiar with new territory, and who was she to stop him?

Next will be that soft place just beneath her breasts, he thought. No, maybe her belly instead; I like her laugh.

“You seem confused, Gamling,” Morwen said, her voice husky and trembling slightly.

“I am unsure where to begin,” he answered. 

“My mother always told me to just start at the beginning,” Morwen suggested, interested to see if the advice would register and what it would bring to Gamling’s mind.

“Your mother,” he replied after a momentary pause, “is a wise woman.”

Moving on to her neck again, kissing and sucking and murmuring something she didn’t understand, she felt more of the Horse Lord’s weight press her deeper into the mattress. The other hand worked down one arm, pale and lithe as a willow-wand, to her breast where, surprisingly, he spent little time caressing and teasing her gradually warming skin. Instead, he paused beneath it, enjoying the softest skin beneath her curves, then continued down toward her hip, his palm firm, roughened by sword work and reins. Releasing her hands, he traced the same path on the other side, his elbow digging into the mattress, supporting his upper body while the hand continued downward and Morwen threaded her fingers into his hair. Down, down, down his hand wandered, teasing her heated flesh until finally he crossed the pliant crest of her belly and found a way through the curls of her mound. Gamling looked pleased when a deeply satisfied sigh rang through the room, especially since he hadn’t actually touched her intimately yet.

This, she knew. While lavishing attention on a whore had never been high on any past client’s list of activities, many of them knew this trick and employed it, albeit half-heartedly, to ensure her readiness. Often her body responded without conscious thought, letting her mind wander off into lists of things to do. When she was younger, she often dreamt of getting beyond her profession and having a normal, respectable life. Such changes, she had realized after a while, rarely came. Eventually, like most poor people, the practicality of staying alive through harsh winters and bad growing seasons overruled regrets. Gamling’s thick, calloused, skillful fingers wandered lower, sought permission, zoning in on that place which would bring her the ultimate pleasure, and Morwen encouraged him on, excited by the little tingle in her belly that she had not experienced for far too long. Would he do this right? she wondered. Did he know to wait?

Teasing the outer folds of her center, he waited, listening until she drew a harsh breath before continuing on, testing, probing, finding his target. She was slick and hot with need and almost before he intended to, Gamling slid two fingers inside her, deep and arching slightly forward, feeling for the soft spot he knew could wring screams from her throat if he found the rhythm that moved her best. Retreating and advancing again, he felt her shudder and nails dug suddenly into his arm, urging him closer, deeper, begging for more.

“Please, Gamling. Don’t stop with that. Gods of Arda, please don’t stop now,” Morwen murmured feeling him hesitate.

“I do not intend to stop, only avoid hurting you,” he replied. “I gave my word.”

Experimenting, his fingers worked in and out of her again, eventually settling into a gentle circling motion. The pads of his fingers moved high inside, wringing moans from her jerking and shivering form. Gradually, his hand became wet to the knuckles, then further as her body responded, but Morwen laid passive and willing right where he’d put her. It appeared that kindness was already winning. Circling and teasing, he eventually sat back on his heels and used the other hand to press against her mound, working circles with the heel of his hand, teasing the tender bud of her sex indirectly, while working unparalleled magic within. His own need grew with each whimper and plea, but Gamling kept himself firmly in check, throbbing painfully, but waiting just the same. Only when she was ready, when she was right at the brink, would he begin to think of himself.

Gamling watched and waited, his patience waning. Then, it came, a tiny flickering pulse against his hand. Aha. Removing his topmost hand and smiling slightly at her moan of protest, he forced his tiring fingers into deeper, swifter strokes while with the other he guided himself to her entrance. The tremor came again, lightly. Still circling, he took a breath, working slowly in and out in preparation of what was to come and ever so gently made the exchange, sliding his throbbing member to the hilt, burying himself deep inside her quivering flesh. Surprised by the sudden change of movement, she lurched upright, gasping and reaching for his arm, crying “No!” then, “Oh.”

“Shh,” he hushed her, breathing deeply. “I’m not going away.”

Gamling stroked slowly, once, testing the way and felt a faint flutter. Good, the change hasn’t slowed her too badly. Looking down at her, taking in her sweat-dampened skin, tendrils of blue-black hair stuck to her neck and chest, he breathed a sigh of amazement. He had done that, left this incredibly beautiful woman panting and begging for more, for him. In spite of all the experience she had, he had found a way to bring her pleasure for her own sake. With a surge of confidence, he wrapped her legs around his waist and she crossed her ankles behind his back, holding on to the pillow behind her head with one hand, and his forearm with the other, still murmuring incoherently in the shadow of his gleaming torso. He moved once more, retreating almost fully before surging forward again in a long, slow, smooth thrust, aiming high against her belly, filling the void his hand had left.

Gods of Arda! Why had he stopped? I was right there, didn’t he realize? Oh damn it all to the void, she fumed. Fine then. Catching a few breaths, she responded to Gamling’s rhythm, speeding him along perhaps a bit faster than he intended, but still giving the Horse Lord his rein. Let him ride himself out, she thought, then maybe it will be my turn. Still, she should not complain over-much. It was not a bad experience, merely- what was he doing with her hand?

Gradually, Morwen smiled. So he really did find his enjoyment from the pleasure of the other. Why couldn’t she have met him ten years ago? Still writhing and counter-thrusting against his hips, the huge, hard muscles of his thighs flexing against hers, Morwen found the bud of her release and stroked, firmly and quickly, needing no further time.

Muscles clenching against him tightly, her hips arched high to receive his thrusts, he watched her head toss with her teeth sunk deeply into her bottom lip as pleasure crept over their writhing forms. Morwen’s body tightened again, harder, hotter, gasping quietly and crumpling the bed sheet in her unoccupied hand. Gamling felt the toes of her left foot curl and then lost consciousness of her as his body could stand no more and surged toward release, driving him forward, harder, faster. Morwen moaned once, loudly, as their tempo increased, the bed frame squeaking distantly beyond the rushing of blood in his ears.

Now, she is ready, he thought, keep breathing. Nails bit into his arm and stars flashed before his eyes. 

Finally!

~*~

Noise drifted from downstairs still, though for all Morwen cared the whole building could be on fire and she would not stir a step. Eventually, Gamling moved and pulled the blanket over them both, their skin cooling rapidly in the breeze through the open window.

“Come here,” he said exhausted but reaching for her anyway.

Oh gods, she thought, he is affectionate afterward. This man could well be my undoing. Morwen moved anyway, resting her head on his shoulder, as requested.

Hm, she mused. He doesn’t smell too bad, sweaty, and a bit like horse, but it’s not so bad.

Still… smell… flowers. “What is that?”

“What is what my lo- Gamling?”

“The scent.”

“I wear no scent,” she said.

“Heather,” he said after a moment, spreading her hair over her back and onto his chest. Morwen merely nodded, willing herself to stay awake in the warmth of the bed and the weariness creeping over her.

“Why did you come to Edoras?” he asked after a few still moments.

Don’t tell him that, she thought, scrambling for an explanation. Don’t think of it, the dirt, the stink, the girls waking in the night screaming, that bastard-

“I enjoy snow, my lord.” Gamling laughed, a deep rolling chuckle that rumbled from somewhere deep within him and finally escaped through his parted lips.

“Well, you will certainly have it come winter,” he replied, still stroking her hair, letting her keep her secrets.

She is dozing, he thought, and smiling. Well done. “You are well?”

“Aye,” Morwen answered, “aye, milord. Tired, but well.”

“It has been a… good, first night?”

Morwen chuckled faintly, “Aye, my lord Gamling. It has.” Still, though, they danced around the one curiosity he had not yet sated.

“Why? Downstairs are a dozen or more young Riders just promoted, with money to spend and their blood running high. Yet you found possibly the oldest man in the place for your first…”

“Customer?” she suggested, looking up into his face. Let’s not beat about the bush for propriety’s sake, she thought, we both know what I am.

“Why?” Gamling asked. “I am not complaining, just curious.”

“May I be blunt, Gamling?” He nodded. “I did not feel like playing teacher tonight. There is no guarantee that any of those ‘young Riders with their blood up’ would know how to proceed. This move has been… trying for me in many ways, and until I learn the nature of your people, how men here act and think, I simply did not want to… risk one of your young comrades. Put shortly, with age comes wisdom.”

With a thoughtful humph, Gamling nodded and the din of celebration below invaded the room again. “I suppose I should have said that you drew me from across the room like a moth to a flame and I could imagine nothing more desirable than to be naked and writhing beneath you, shouldn’t I?”

Gamling laughed. “Flattering, but I think I prefer the honest answer. Though I hope there was at least some of the latter involved?”

“Oh, you are not unattractive, don’t misunderstand. When I said I think your hair is reddest in the morning, I was serious, and I am interested to see it, but…”

“Until you are a more experienced horse woman, you would prefer a mount with a calm disposition and a will to please?”

It was Morwen’s turn to laugh. “I had no idea what your will would be and only a guess at your disposition. Is there room for beginner’s luck in this scenario? I believe I had some.” Gamling’s chest swelled slightly and Morwen congratulated herself on detangling herself from a sticky situation: she’d managed to be honest and still stroke the Horse Lord’s ego. Nicely done.

“Something tells me, though,” she continued smiling, “that this mount, at least, still has some fire in his blood.” Gamling looked down at her through one open eye.

“What?”

Morwen giggled smoothing a hand down his torso languidly.

“I did enjoy my ride, master Horse Lord,” she said, teasing his nipple with her tongue, “but I also simply gave my mount his head. Perhaps it is time I asserted myself as horse mistress.”

Gamling laughed again, the sound ringing off the roof beams overhead. "I have a feeling you will become quite popular here.”

“Perhaps we should see,” she said working onto all fours, letting a curtain of silken black surround them and block out the rest of the night. After all there were many ways to pass the time with a naked- and willing- Horse Lord… and she did want to see his hair in the morning sun.


End file.
